27

IT WAS BOUND TO COME TO THIS.

Like I said, he started off being good. He was quiet, polite and really, really grateful. After that first time we went to the mall, in fact, Bitsie actually said thank you! It was very touching. Like seeing someone who’s lost a leg walk for the first time. (And it was probably about as hard for him to do.)

But little by little, Bitsie started getting bolder. He whispered a bit too loudly. He did stupid things just to embarrass me—like screaming “Hey, Handsome!” in my voice at guys who really weren’t handsome, or making loud wet farting noises whenever I bent over to try on shoes.⁴⁶

He also shoplifted. Or at least he thought he shoplifted.

That’s because I didn’t tell him that the ketchup cups at Hamburger Heaven are free. I figured if he was happy taking them, he’d keep his four-fingered paws off the electronic equipment. I’d talk about whether it was right or wrong with him later.

All that was bad enough, of course, but then Bitsie ran away.

I didn’t even notice at first. I’d taken my knapsack off and was sitting on a bench, resting. I was beat. There was a soap opera star at the mall and Bitsie had made me stand in line forever, waiting to get close enough to see the top of her head. (As if I cared about Schuyler Dawn Delano and her bouffy hair.)

Anyway, I’d been sitting there awhile when the old lady next to me got up and shuffled over to the escalator. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it except she said, “Bye, dear. Nice talking to you.” It seemed weird. I hadn’t said a thing.

A moment later, it hit me.

That wasn’t the old lady talking. It was Bitsie! He was playing another one of his stupid jokes!

By then, it was too late. I looked around and after a moment of pure terror saw the old lady at the top of the escalator. Bitsie was poking out of her Favorite Footsies shoe bag, waving and making faces at me, like “ha-ha, fooled ya.” He didn’t even seem to care if anyone saw him.

I have to admit that I always ended up laughing at Bitsie’s fake farts and bad pick-up lines. It was embarrassing of course, but that’s what made it so funny too.

This was different. This was way too risky.

I wanted to kill Bitsie, but I couldn’t even get my hands on him. All the hard-core Unbridled Passion fans who’d stuck around to get Schuyler autograph were clogging the escalator. I tried fighting my way past them, but they were really tough. I guess you have to be to get those autographs.

By the time I made it up the escalator, I was lucky just to catch a glimpse of the old lady’s mauve coat disappearing into The Underwear Drawer.⁴⁷

I ran into the store just as the salesclerk was showing her into the dressing room. I didn’t know what to do. For a second I thought about sliding under the door of the old lady’s cubicle, stealing the shoe bag and making a run for it. I’d have to hope she’d taken her clothes off and was too embarrassed to come after me.

It was risky, especially since if she was anything like my grandmother, she was past the point of caring. Grammie was perfectly normal and then she hit seventy and decided public skinny-dipping was absolutely a-okay. If someone took her new Favorite Footsies, she wouldn’t think twice about engaging in a little nude wrestling to get them back.

She would, in fact, consider it the responsible thing to do.

That scared me. I decided to wait until the old lady came out before I did anything.

It took forever. I wandered around the store, pretending I was going to buy something. The saleslady was immediately suspicious. I obviously didn’t need a bra. I was too young (and not stupid enough) for most of the underpants there. (It was like Wedgie City. I mean, who wears that stuff?)

The only other underwear there, I was too young for too. You know, the senior citizen gear. The bloomers. The girdles. The giant bras that look like two white bicycle helmets welded together. I figured that was what the old lady was trying on.

I hoped it was, anyway. It’s stupid, I know, but the idea of her trying on a thong really bothered me. As if that was any of my business.

Finally, finally, finally, when I was sure the salesclerk was going to have me arrested just on suspicion of being weird, the old lady came out of the dressing room. By that time I had a plan all ready. I was going to walk up to the counter and stand behind her like I wanted to buy something. Then I was going to pretend to trip, land on the shoe bag and, in the confusion, stuff Bitsie under my shirt. I hadn’t figured out how I’d explain the big squirming lump or the yellow legs dangling below, but it was the best plan I could come up with.

I was so nervous that as soon as I saw the old lady coming out of the dressing room, I grabbed the nearest thing to me and beetled up to the counter. It turned out to be a pointy, leopard skin bra with this feathery stuff around the cups.

Normally, that would have embarrassed me, but right then it didn’t matter. I had to move fast.

I was standing behind the old lady and was getting all ready for my big “accident” when she suddenly slapped her hand to her mouth and said, “Oh dear, oh dear! My shoes!” She’d forgotten the Favorite Footsies bag. She raced off back into the dressing room. (Okay, “raced” probably is a bit of an exaggeration, but she sure could shuffle when she had to.)

Now what was I going to do? The saleslady didn’t give me time to think.

She said, “I’ll ring that in for you while we’re waiting.”

Something else I hadn’t planned on. Actually having to buy the thing! Bitsie needed that glow-in-the-dark dog collar more than I needed a 38D leopard skin bra. But I didn’t want to make the saleslady anymore suspicious than she already was. I didn’t want her to remember my face if anything I had to do in the next few minutes would result in criminal charges being laid against me.

So I just bought it.

“That will be $42.87.”

I nearly died. I had no idea it was made of real leopard skin. It was going to cost me pretty much all the emergency money I had left.

I was fishing around in the bottom of my knapsack for the twelve cents I still needed when the old lady came back from the dressing room. I slapped the pennies on the counter and got ready to trip.

I was still struggling with whether I should throw my arms out like this was a major fall or just sort of casually stumble over the bag, when the old lady squawked.

I’m not saying that to be mean. She really did squawk.

Can you blame her? It must have been a terrible surprise, expecting to see a nice sensible pair of shoes in your bag and instead seeing Bitsie’s blank eyes staring up at you.

“Good heavens!” she went. “What is this? Someone put a …put a…goblin in my shoe bag!”

I could hardly trip on it now.

The saleslady started saying it was probably some sort of special offer. You know, one free “goblin” with every pair of orthopedic oxfords. That brought some color back to the old lady’s face, and she started talking about what a clever shopper she was to have picked up such an “interesting” free gift.

She was warming up to Bitsie, I could tell. What if she took him back to the suburbs with her? Or mailed him off to her grandson in Pugwash Junction? Or got two dollars for him at the church rummage sale? Or let Bitsie talk her into selling her house and buying that state-of-the-art barbecue system he wanted?

That last thought really scared me. Who knew what Bitsie was capable of? I had to do something! And right away too.

My mind was blank. No brilliant ideas. Not even any lame ones. I could only think of one thing.

I had to tell the truth.

I said, “Oh, no. It’s not a free gift. It’s mine. That’s why I followed you up here. You were sitting next to me on the bench and then…”

Well, that’s where the truth ended.⁴⁸ I babbled something about accidentally putting “my new toy” in her bag because I was too busy thinking about what I could get my sick mother for a going-away present since she had to spend the next seven to twelve weeks in a hospital that was very far away from our home, in a whole other country actually, and she might never see me again because there was always the chance the surgery would leave her blind.

I think the old lady gave me Bitsie back just so I’d shut up. Who knows? Anyway, it worked. She handed him to me and I ran.

I had about eight seconds of relief before I heard the saleslady scream.

“Stop! Stop!! Somebody stop that girl!”

⁴⁶ He had a number of variations on this. Sometimes he’d follow the fart with a big sigh like “Ooooh, that felt good!” Sometimes he’d have me go, “Anyone else feel a draft? Har-har! ” like I’m the type that would just let one rip in public and have a big laugh about it. Then other times he’d say, “Oh. Sorry, must be the sauerkraut I ate” or “I knew those sardines I had for lunch were bad” or something else equally disgusting so that even though people around me couldn’t smell anything, they started to believe that they did. And there was nothing I could do about it. If I looked embarrassed, people thought, And you should be! Passing wind in public like that! If I tried to look like I didn’t do it, they all gave me that who-are-you-kidding look. That’s the thing about farting. The more you try and deny it, the more everyone figures you did it. Nobody ever thinks to blame it on the puppet in your knapsack.

⁴⁷ “Intimate Apparel for all your needs – and desires.”

⁴⁸ Just as well, all things considered. If I told the truth I’d be writing this from the loony bin.